What if I were Sherlock Holmes?

“Watson walked around the crime scene. Every step was
carefully place, and he did his best to sift through the clues and the rest of
the dreck. That was really the hardest part about investigating. Because
anything and everything could be a clue, didn’t mean that it actually was. Was
the recently smeared dust on the blinds the work of the murderer or the
laziness of the housemaid? Was the slightly turned ballerina figure on the
bookshelf significant? How about the one book that was pulled out a little too
far or the other that was pushed in just a tad too much? It was hard to tell,
and that made observations all the more important. The crime scene, especially one at home represented both the intrusion into life and life itself. Differentiation was made difficult because, most of the time, the investigator had no idea how the person had lived before the moment of his death. “There’s not enough blood,” said Watson. “There’s not enough blood from this wound. It looks like the heart would have been punctured, but that should have left spray marks and blood. Instead, there is this dribbling of blood.” Watson had a point. It was very likely that the man had died before being stabbed in the chest unless an autopsy showed something else. “I guess he could have bled out internally, though.” Watson amended his statement about the blood. Watson got that look on his face that told me something was niggling at his senses. He sniffed and walked away from the corpse. “Fresh dirt… So why would someone cover up a scent with lilac and coffee?” He was really just thinking out loud, trying to refine the information he was taking in. “He could have been making coffee, I suppose. What do you make of it, Holmes?” “I’d say the game was afoot, my friend.” I smiled.